Late Nights
by Rachel Lynn
Summary: Ryan's trying to come to grips with his new life and family. A little ficlet set shortly after Ryan's mother gives up custody to the Cohens.


Title: Late Nights

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Not me. Fox. 

It's been a hell of a week, is all that Ryan can think as he sits in the middle of the bed in the middle of the pool house in the middle of Orange County. It kills him that even the pool house has air conditioning. It seems…weird. This place is better than any of the rundown, piece of shit, apartments he's ever lived in during the entire time he's been alive. It's even better than that bastard, AJ's place in Chino.   
  
And it's their _pool house_. Un-fucking-believable.   
  
But it's got something in common, he decides, with every place he's ever lived. There's a hollowness that echoes in the single room. And even in the dark, he can tell that he's still on the outside, that he's still alone, and that, in all likelihood, the wolf is still out there, knocking on the door and waiting for him to fuck this up, too.   
  
Sandy had said something to Mrs. Cohen about not yanking his chain, and he'd almost found it amusing at the time. Wasn't the whole reason he had a chain was so someone could yank it?   
  
He never learned. He'd get his hopes up.   
  
This time she wouldn't get drunk. This time, she'd find the right guy. This time she wouldn't get high and leave him and Trey to fend for themselves.   
  
This time she wouldn't leave him on the side of the road, telling herself that she was doing right by him.   
  
After all, what kind of fucking sense did that make? "I want what's best for you, _that's_ why I'm throwing you away like unwanted trash." He'd never been born yesterday. Even if he continued to hope against hope that _this_ time she'd look at him and see something, that _this_ time she'd turn, see him, and see something worthwhile instead of a case of bad timing and a broken condom.   
  
Ryan sits in the middle of the bed, shivering despite the fact that he's got all the covers wrapped up tight around him. The moon's glowing off the pool, and he can see the ripples of light it's creating on the far wall as the wind picks up. Intellectually, he knows that everyone feels lonely at this time of night. How can they not, after all, when they're the only ones awake in their world and the only noise to listen to is the incessant chattering of their internal voice? _Everyone_ feels lost in the middle of the night in the dark by themselves.   
  
It's just that he really doesn't remember a time when he _didn't_ feel like this.   
  
He has no one. There _is_ no one to turn to with his problems. Not that he's ever had anyone to run to. It's been his experience that everyone around him is so far gone in their own problems that they're drowning too much to even notice that he's sinking as well. Sometimes, he wonders if they'd care even if they did notice.   
  
His family's finally managed to do what they've been trying to do for the last seventeen years. They've gotten rid of him.   
  
Sandy doesn't want Mrs. Cohen to yank his chain, he can't help but snort as his thoughts circle back. As if she could. It's his own damn fault for thinking things could change. He's the moron who keeps hoping, despite the fact that the world keeps giving him reasons not to.   
  
He's so used to his own nomadic existence that it's the idea of _staying_ here that has him scared shitless. He's never lived anywhere longer than a couple months at the most. How dumb would he be to expect this to be different?   
  
He knows he joked earlier about unpacking his things. But when his entire life can be cleaned up and shoved into one lousy duffle bag, it's not like unpacking would make his presence in this pool house seem more permanent. Ten minutes, tops, and he could be nomadic all over again.   
  
There's a heavy silence in the room, and it's slowly driving him mad, he decides. He wanted so bad to have the Cohens accept him. But now that they have, all he can think is that they've just acquired him by default. Truth be told, he doubts they care for him any more than his own family. It's just that they live on higher moral ground than the white trash he's grown up with.   
  
In his mind, it's only a question of time. He's a guy whose mother couldn't even love him. He imagines that it won't take long for these virtual strangers to show him the door once more. After all, even at the most, it's only a eight months, three weeks and two days before he's eighteen and they don't have to feel guilty about him anymore. Happy Birthday, it was nice knowing you, have a nice life, and don't let the door kick you in the ass on the way out. Or at least, that's what he imagines the general gist will be.   
  
He hears the door latch click lightly in the stillness. And he throws the blankets off quickly before sucking everything in behind the tough guy act. "Ryan? You in here?"   
  
"Where else would I be?" He rolls his eyes, forcing himself to flash a smirk in Seth's direction as the other boy slinks in and tentatively slides onto the edge of the bed.   
  
"Well, see, the last time I checked on you out here, you were doing the Houdini thing. Maybe I'm just paranoid, I know, call me crazy." Seth gestures grandly, and Ryan finds himself smiling, despite himself.   
  
"Hmm," he murmurs vaguely, watching as Seth uncertainly glances at him before flopping down on the bed and stealing a pillow.   
  
"About what I said earlier," Seth starts, "About it being awesome that you're staying. Because, well, it is awesome, but I didn't mean that it was awesome that-"  
  
"It's okay," he interjects quickly before Seth can say any more. Before Seth can say what Ryan doesn't like admitting even to himself.   
  
He digs his hands through his hair, and avoids Seth's gaze. He can feel the gooseflesh on his arms, and if he didn't think that he'd look like an even bigger baby than he was, he'd grab the covers and dive under them and never come out again.   
  
"Everything's okay with you," Seth says, putting a hand on the back of Ryan's neck and making him start so bad he almost head butts Seth by accident. Seth doesn't seem to notice though, or care. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you're here."   
  
It's a balm to his soul, and a curse at the same time. Because, in Ryan's experience, people who say that to him eventually end up taking it back. Even if Seth means it now, there's no guarantee that he'll mean it tomorrow, or the day after that, or even a week from now.   
  
Seth's fingers rub lightly on the back of his neck and Ryan forces himself to relax in increments as Seth lightly bonks their heads together, humming slightly under his breath. He lays back and lets the lullaby-like quality of it wash over him. Seth is only mostly tone deaf, and he can't help but smile at the choice of tunes, but it's a tune that's breaking up the silence. Glancing at the awkward teen, Ryan decides that, unlike him, Seth is more himself in the dark. Seth seems more relaxed. At ease. Confident.   
  
"Theme to Star Wars?" he asks finally.  
  
"Yeah." Seth's grin is sheepish.   
  
"I like it."


End file.
